


oh, a yearning

by gigantic



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Break Up, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Moving On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 17:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13058418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: Nick doesn’t remember it being so obvious.





	oh, a yearning

**Author's Note:**

> There's background and discussed Connor/Dylan, but the pairing is never "on screen," so to speak. Title from "Higher Love," but the mood of James Vincent McMorrow's version in particular.

Dylan wears his heart on his sleeve. He knows, and he doesn’t hide it, but he doesn’t try to draw more attention to it either. Things just are what they are. Nick could tell he was bursting with love that first time they spent a September in Arizona, way before Dylan ever bothered to let him know who made him smile at his phone, who had him practically glowing in broad daylight all the time. Connor knows how to lift Dylan’s moods just by sending a message, a photo. Anything. 

Nick doesn’t remember it being so obvious at the combine. Whatever happened changed sometime in between then and training camp in Arizona, he imagines. Dylan finally let him in on the missing piece to a mostly obvious puzzle casually, over steaks Dylan felt like paying for this round. 

“I have a Skype date with Connor later,” he had said when Nick suggested playing COD after they finished. That could’ve been it, ambiguous enough, but he lifted a shoulder and half-smiled. “Could be a while, you know.”

There was no reason Nick should’ve understood what he meant. Dylan hadn’t actively given him context clues before then, but yeah. Nick knew. 

“Oh, sure.” Nick cleared his throat and drank some water. “We’ll catch up later.”

He could tell Dylan watched him for a few long seconds while Nick went back to his food. Eventually he kicked at Nick’s shoe under the table, nudging him until he looked up. Nick raised his eyebrows, feeling strangely pressured to speak first under Dylan’s gaze, but he had no idea what else to say.

“Tomorrow?” Dylan asked finally, putting him out of his misery.

“Uh.” Nick nodded. “Yeah. Tell Connor I say hi.”

Dylan smiled brighter, that full wattage grin Nick was used to seeing directed at his texts. “I will.”

;;

Heart. Sleeve. Dylan’s no good at hiding it, even when he’d rather draw a lot less attention. It dawns on Nick too late in the game that the problem with being so easily read is that people can tell when someone’s broken what you gave them. 

At first, Dylan doesn’t talk about it. When he comes to Tucson, Nick first assumes he’s salty about being sent down. He doesn’t even sulk, just walks into the locker room quieter than Nick’s used to, and that’s enough to tell he’s off. He seems better a couple days in, focused and chuckling with Nick’s jokes. Dylan greets him with hugs and chirps, connecting with Mike as he adopts a personal crusade to step up Nick’s social media game, then get Nick a girlfriend. 

“How about your guy McDavid starting the season with a hatty?” Mike says, somewhere in between judging Nick’s selfies and talking about his haircut.

“Yeah,” Dylan says easily enough and doesn’t elaborate. Nick glances over. Dylan’s smiling with one side tugged to the left, effortful. 

Nick wants to apologize. He presses his lips together and tells Mike to quit making fun of his hair instead.

This time Dylan eventually clues in him in while they’re walking around, eating cups of ice cream and wishing they still had quick access to a pool. “The good thing about living in the hotel over summer,” Dylan says. 

“That’s the one part about this new place that I don’t like,” Nick says. “My tan’s gone.”

Dylan laughs. He digs into his pocket a moment, pulling out his phone. He reads whatever notification drew his attention to it, his smile sliding off his face slowly. “Are you kidding me?” he whispers. “Fucking, come on.” 

“Everything okay?” Nick pops his spoon in his mouth and drags it out slow, concerned.

Huffing, Dylan says, “Yeah.” The frustration etches across his brow as he tucks his phone away. “Fuck it. I’ll deal with Connor later.” 

“Shit,” Nick says, exhaling. “That bad?”

Dylan rolls his eyes. “It’s fine.” He stabs at his cup of ice cream. They’re still walking, the pace picking up despite still not actually having a destination in mind. “It’s stupid. He’s — I want to be done.” 

“I’m sorry, man.” Nick’s wanted to say it for days, but now he finally feels allowed. “Can I do anything?” 

Dylan snorts, not quite smiling. It’s a mostly mirthless sound, but he’s trying again suddenly. “Buy my ice cream next time.” 

“Milking it already,” Nick says, testing the water. 

Dylan uses the hand holding his spoon to pretend to dust off his shoulder. “What can I say? I’m sad.”

He makes it sound so casual, and Nick just wants to give him a hug. “You got it.” 

;;

Dylan wears his heart on his sleeve. It makes it easy to edit early assumptions. There’s a difference between Dylan walking around with a broken heart and one that’s still cracking down the middle. 

What sticks with Nick most about their first kiss is the contrast of Dylan’s skin. He feels cold along his jaw while his cheeks are warm and damp against Nick’s thumbs. Sniffling, Dylan leans into the way Nick cups his face and presses their mouths together. A gasp encourages it, lets autopilot take control. Nick kisses Dylan like he means it. He does. 

“I don’t know,” Nick says after a minute, as Dylan reaches for the hem of his t-shirt. “Dyl, is this— you’re angry.”

Dylan drops his head on Nick’s shoulder. With one hand over the back of his hair and the other smoothing down over Dylan’s spine, Nick holds him. He can see Dylan’s phone on the bed a few inches away still, screen dark. Part of him wishes it would light up with a new notification so he could see how he manages to do it, how Connor can bring down Dylan’s whole night with one message or call.

“What can I do?” Nick asks.

Dylan makes a sad noise, turning his face against Nick’s skin. His breath tickles as he asks, “Can you stay here?” He sniffs again. “You don’t have to if—”

“That’s fine,” Nick says. “I want to.” 

They do their best not to break the embrace completely while they stretch out. Nick lies down with his arms around Dylan. The one underneath Dylan’s ribs will go numb at some point, but it’s worth it for the way Dylan burrows closer. 

“I just need somebody to be nice to me,” he says. “Sad, right?”

No. Nick’s been there. “You deserve nice.”

He strokes Dylan’s hair and tilts his chin to kiss Dylan’s forehead. Kisses trail down the bridge of his nose and high on his cheeks. Nick is the one to slide their lips together this time. He kisses Dylan until the tension in his back melts slightly. He doesn’t know how long they make out in Dylan’s bed, weighed down by the hour and too much emotion, but Nick doesn’t stop Dylan when he reaches for his shirt a second time. 

Dylan doesn’t hold back. Seeing everything he feels and the expanse of his naked skin at the same time makes Nick feel like he might never catch his breath. Dylan clings and pants, at one point asking, “Please. Please,” in a way that Nick knows he can’t soothe. Wishes he could. His body feels good but his heart is heavy, Nick pressing their palms together to try to pulse anything he can back into Dylan. He just wants to help.

When Nick comes, slick across Dylan’s skin, he both loves it and wishes he’d waited. He jerks Dylan off, getting him there too. His whine is so nice that Nick regrets tying this up in grief over someone else.

“C’mere,” Dylan murmurs. He pulls Nick down, peppering him with more stuttered kisses. They catch their breath in shattered intervals.

He half-expects Dylan to nudge him away at some point, when he’s had his fill. Their skin is going to get gross sooner rather than later, but Dylan never objects to Nick’s weight, seemingly unconcerned with the heat. Nick tucks his face against Dylan’s neck when they stop, one hand sandwiched between them, high enough that he can count the beats of Dylan’s pulse if he wants. The rhythm carries him to sleep. 

;;

Heart. Sleeve. Dylan’s hanging out at Nick’s place, and he hears Dylan on the phone while he uses the restroom. Dylan’s “holy shit! Nick!” is the loudest of all. 

“What?” Nick rubs his wet hands on his jeans. 

Dylan’s bouncing on his heels, too electric to be anything other than — “They want me up. Toc just called.”

“Fuck yeah!” Nick says, going to hug him tight. 

Dylan, the tower that he is, leans back and brings Nick onto his toes for a moment. There’s a sudden weightless sway in Nick’s gut, Dylan saying, “I have to fly to Edmonton in the morning,” and then he’s planted on his feet again just as quickly. Dylan babbles about packing, about how he hopes the flight isn’t ungodly early. “That way I can still stay the night, and then go throw some clothes in a bag tomorrow.”

Nick perches on the bed, smiling up at him and listening to Dylan talk about getting to see Ryan. “I have to call him,” he says. “How crazy is that timing? I’ll get to actually see my brother before Christmas.” 

Heart. Sleeve. Nick can see the rest of it dawn on him, Dylan sitting on the bed next to him and pursing his lips. It seems to hit him at the same time it does Nick. He drops his head and shakes it, almost disbelieving. “This is insane,” he says again. 

Nick could waffle here. He could let Dylan dismiss what they clearly both just remembered, but he asks, “Are you gonna see him? Not Ryan, but…”

Dylan tips his head back, closes his eyes and groans. “I shouldn’t.”

“It’s okay if you do.” Not that Nick’s permission is needed. That isn’t what he means, but he clears his throat and lets the words settle as is. 

“It’s over,” Dylan says calmly. “Has been for a while, but we probably need to, I don’t know, say some things face-to-face, instead of over the phone or Facetime or something. It’s complicated.”

“I get it.” Nick shrugs. “Do what you have to do.”

“Maybe I’ll just have Ryan come to dinner, be a buffer...” Dylan looks at him. He’s doing that thing again, regarding Nick like he’s appraising something about him. Or all of him. Nick tries not to squirm. “Are you into me?”

Nick’s eyes widen. He can’t help it. It’s never really occurred to him to think about it that plainly, that he could be asked. He stutters for a moment and pauses, regroups. 

“Yeah,” he admits, “but it’s more that — this is good news for you. You shouldn’t have to deal with being hurt again just to play.” 

Dylan nods, almost idly, faraway. He inhales deeply and lets it out slow. “I like you, too,” he says. “You don’t have to put up with this, though.”

Nick blinks, taking his time to think it through. “You’re not that scary.”

Dylan scoots close enough to rest his head against Nick’s. He reaches for Nick’s hand, clasping their fingers. Palm to palm, Dylan pulses his hand, an echo of what Nick did for him a few nights ago. Nick didn’t realize Dylan was even noticing his cheesy whims, but he feeds the energy right back to him. One, two. One, two. Steady. 

Chuckling, Dylan says, “Thanks for being on my side.”

“Team Stromer all the way,” Nick says. Dylan laughs hard, bubbling back into giddiness over his news. Nick doesn’t want to look quite yet, cautious, but he thinks Dylan could be grinning. 

“You’re coming up soon, too,” Dylan says. 

“Duh,” Nick says. “I can’t leave you alone.”


End file.
